


The Ian Invasion.

by whisper57



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisper57/pseuds/whisper57
Summary: Mickey thinks, before falling asleep, that the guy had green eyes. Maybe.or: ian is kind of creepy, but mostly not and mickey doesn't really care much about blood.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	The Ian Invasion.

**Author's Note:**

> i wouldn't personally call this "gory" or very "graphic" but there is a part of the fic that has mickey imagining/thinking about some stuff. so.

He’s covered in blood. 

Mickey can’t be sure because of the dark, and because he’s, like, only _half_ awake, and because of the blood, obviously, but he thinks the guy has red hair.

He stares at Mickey. Mickey stares back.

Mickey shrugs and goes back into his apartment. He falls asleep as soon as he falls into his bed.

—

Mickey thinks, before falling asleep, that the guy had green eyes. Maybe.

—

(It was the noise that had woken Mickey up. He doesn’t really remember what he heard, exactly, only that he heard _something_ in his sleep and was woken up because of it.

Then Mickey had opened his apartment door and looked into the hallway to see the guy—the one with the red hair, and possible green eyes, and the one covered in blood—about to enter the apartment across Mickey’s. Rumlow’s apartment: the old, creepy guy who always hit on Mickey, no matter how much Mickey glared at him.

_Hm_ , was all Mickey had thought, then.)

—

The alarm on the bedside table read 7:30 AM when Mickey blearily looked at it.

_The guy_ was sitting on the armchair in front of Mickey’s bed. Staring at Mickey while he slept. Probably.

“Oh. You’re awake.”

Mickey looks at him.

“So.” The guy draws the word out. Mickey raises an eyebrow at him. Tries to, at least, in his half-awake state. (Again.)

Then Mickey turns to face the wall, his back to the guy, and promptly goes back to sleep again.

He thinks he hears _the guy_ say _Okay_ before he loses consciousness.

—

When Mickey wakes up 4 hours later, there are sounds coming from the kitchen. He stares at the ceiling for a while, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and leaves his room.

The guy is in the kitchen. He has red hair. And green eyes. Mickey was right.

There’s a distinct lack of blood, though, Mickey notes.

“If I start talking, will you go back to sleep again?” Red-hair-green-eyes asks.

Mickey (successfully, this time) raises an eyebrow, makes his way to the fridge to grab some orange juice, and says, “Depends.”

“On what?” Merida asks, cooking bacon.

Mickey shrugs.

There are scrambled eggs on the table and pancakes, too. The guy places the bacon on the table and sits down across from Mickey.

“You don’t have any coffee,” Merida notes.

“Don’t drink any,” Mickey says before eating a forkful of eggs.

“What kind of person doesn’t drink coffee?” Red asks.

“I don’t.”

The guy shrugs and goes back to eating.

—

“So what did you see? Last night?”

“You. Covered in blood. Outside Rumlow’s apartment.”  
  
“Okay.”

Silence.

“You gonna tell the cops?”

Outraged, Mickey says, “Bitch I ain’t no snitch.”

The guys smiles. Wide. _Creep_ , Mickey thinks. “Good.”

—

“My name’s Ian. Gallagher.”  
  
“Okay. Ian. Gallagher.” The guy grins at Mickey. Wide.

He looks _affectionate._

_Weirdo_ , Mickey thinks.

“I’m Mickey.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mickey.”

_Weirdo._

—

“You ever gonna leave my apartment, Ian Gallagher?” Mickey asks on the second evening of Ian’s stay in his apartment. Mickey has just come out of a shower and Ian is laying on his couch, watching TV.

Ian looks up at Mickey. Stares for a bit. Mickey flushes. Ian stares some more. Mickey bites his lip, can’t help it.

Ian says, “Probably not.”

Mickey says, _‘kay_ and sits down to watch Twilight with Ian.

—

(Mickey feels Ian’s eyes on him throughout the movie.)

—

“Do you have any siblings?”

Mickey rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ian says.

“It means you’re annoying as shit, Gallagher,” Mickey tells him.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“So, do you?”

“Fucking hell. Yes. Jesus. Three older brothers and one younger sister.”

“Oh wow. I thought I was the only one with a large family. I’ve got an older sister, and an older brother. And I’ve got one younger sister and two younger brothers. So, like, I kind of fall in the middle.”

Mickey snorts.

“What.” Ian asks.

“Nothing. Just. That explains a lot.”

“What explains a lot?”

“You. Being a _middle child_. Explains a lot.”

Ian throws a pillow at him.

—

Mandy comes to visit five days after The Ian Invasion.

She sits with Mickey at the kitchen table while they drink beers, and she looks at Ian, who’s watching TV.

Ian watches a lot of TV.

“Who’s he?” Mandy asks, jerking her head in Ian’s direction.

Mickey rolls his eyes, doesn’t understand why she’d jerk her head or look in Ian’s direction since it’d have been _pretty fucking obvious_ who she was talking about even if she _hadn’t_ done either of those things. Jesus.

Mickey shrugs. Says, “Ian.”

Mandy looks at him. She looks like she wants to bash his head in.

She closes her eyes, probably asks for patience from the heavens, and says, slowly, “Well. How do you know Ian?”

“I don’t,” Mickey tells her, taking a sip of his beer.

“What does that mean?”

“Means I don’t _know_ Ian.”

Mandy looks at him. Mickey thinks about what his last words will be.

“Then what,” a deep breath, “is _Ian_ doing. In _your apartment_?”

Mickey shrugs, again. Before he loses a limb, he says, “He broke in. Has been staying here for a few days. Won’t leave.”

“Huh,” is all Mandy says.

Mickey doesn’t like the way she looks at Ian.

Even more, he doesn’t like the fact that he cares about how people look at Ian.

—

Mandy stays for a few more hours. The three of them watch the Titanic.

Mandy sits in the middle. Mickey wants to murder his sister. He thinks about the blood that covered Ian that night. Wonders whose it was. Then shies away from that train of thought.

(He feels triumphant and smug when he sees Ian not responding to any of Mandy’s—not all subtle—advances. She leaves their apartment angry and disappointed.)

—

Ian has slept in the other, smaller, bedroom for as long he’s been with Mickey.

He doesn’t sleep there that night after Mandy leaves. No, instead, he crawls into Mickey’s bed, plastering himself to Mickey’s back.

Mickey is sleepy, and tired. He makes an annoyed sound in his throat and says, “What the fuck man. Go back to your bed.”

Ian tightens his hold on Mickey. Pulls him closer to himself. Mickey’s heart stutters.

“Ian.”

“Hm.”

“Go.”

“No.”

Mickey sighs. There’s silence for a few minutes. Mickey feels Ian’s warmth. Revels in it.

He’s falling asleep when Ian says, “I’m gay.”

Mickey freezes. Kind of. _Okay_ , he thinks. Okay.

“Good for you.”

“Thanks,” Ian replies.

A beat. Then Mickey says, “I’m gay, too.”

Mickey feels Ian smile into his shoulder, smiles himself. Just a little.

“Good to know.”

Yeah. Good to know.

—

“Don’t you want to know about that night?” Ian asks.

They’re watching Riverdale.

“No,” Mickey says. He isn’t sure if he’s lying.

“Mickey.”

“ _No._ ” Mickey says, again. Firm.

“Okay.”

That’s that.

—

Mickey wonders to himself about what happened that night. A lot. Maybe Ian knows. Maybe he doesn’t.

He thinks up all kinds of scenarios, whatever his mind can conjure up. He imagines and imagines and imagines.

He looks at Ian when they’re watching TV or eating or when he’s awake before him, and thinks about him with a knife in his hand, stabbing someone. Imagines Ian with a gun, shooting someone in the forehead, between the eyes, or in the chest. Mickey imagines Ian hurting someone until they stop breathing, until they can’t be hurt anymore. Mickey pictures Ian cleaning up all the blood, wiping sweat from his forehead, accidentally smearing blood on his face; his clothes. Mickey imagines Ian hiding a body.

Mickey doesn’t know if thinking like this is better or worse than learning the truth.

—

(Mickey dreams about Ian’s pale skin covered in freckles and blood; dreams about kissing his lips, then biting them so hard he draws blood.

He dreams about watching Ian kill faceless people. Hurting them, torturing them. Dreams about hearing them scream while Ian laughs and Mickey can’t make a sound.

He dreams about bruises on his throat in the shape of Ian’s fingers. Dreams about Ian hovering over him, a manic smile on his face, as Mickey struggles to breathe.

Mickey wakes up hard.)

—

(Sometimes, Mickey dreams while he’s awake.)

—

Fifteen days after The Ian Invasion, Mickey comes home in the evening and finds his apartment empty.

Sometimes Ian leaves to take a walk around the neighbourhood (he does that in the mornings and tells Mickey when he’s going), or to get groceries (he asks Mickey if he needs anything and if he wants to come with). So, Mickey isn’t really worried.

Mickey heats up dinner, eats it on the couch, drinks beer, and doesn’t think about the sinking feeling in his chest.

—

Ian still isn’t there in the morning.

Mickey goes to work. Comes back.

Ian still isn’t there.

—

Mickey doesn’t have Ian’s number. Doesn’t have his address. Doesn’t know if he even _has_ an address. _I mean,_ Mickey thinks, _who even lives in a stranger’s house if they have their own fucking place?_

He knows Ian has an older sister, and an older brother, and he’s got one younger sister and two younger brothers. He doesn’t know their names. Or about their fucking parents. Are they alive? What about his siblings; are _they_ alive?

Mickey knows about Ian’s siblings and he knows that Ian has pale skin and freckles and red hair and green eyes and that he stares at Mickey and that he holds Mickey tightly when they sleep like he can’t bear the thought of Mickey moving away from him and like he won’t _let_ Mickey move away from him and Mickey knows he likes ketchup with his eggs and that he likes documentaries about fish and that he smiles and laughs at stupid things but he doesn’t _know anything about Ian._

Ian doesn’t come back. Mickey worries.

—

(Mickey thinks about the blood on Ian and thinks about the police and thinks about handcuffs and jail and life sentences and death sentences and he wants to rip his own hair out.)

—

Ian comes back the next day.

It’s early afternoon, and Mickey is staring blankly at the TV, not paying attention to anything that’s on it, and the door opens.

Mickey releases a breath.

Ian’s holding an old duffel bag, and he says, _Hey_ , and Mickey has never wanted to hit anyone more.

Mickey shoves him into his closed front door, and asks him, “Where the _fuck were you_?”

Ian looks startled. Mickey wants to _hit_ him. “Uh. I went back to my place to check up on my family and get some of my stuff. Then they asked me to stay the night. I wanted to call you to tell you, but, uh, I don’t have your number? So.”

Mickey glares at him, the absolute fucking _moron_ , and contemplates punching him.

“Mickey—?” The dumbass starts saying and Mickey cannot _handle this_ and so he kisses him. Hard.

Ian makes a surprised—but pleased—sound and drops his duffle bag, and places one of his large fucking hands on Mickey’s waist, the other holds the back of Mickey’s head, and kisses back.

They kiss and kiss, and Mickey pulls back enough to say, “I fucking _hate_ you,” and then kisses Ian again.

Ian hums, pleased.

—

They jack each other off right there by the door. Mickey sucks Ian’s cock in the living room. Ian fucks Mickey in Mickey’s bedroom. Mickey goes to take a shower; Ian follows. Ian fucks Mickey against the shower wall.

They order take-out, watch The Mummy, and cuddle on the couch.

Mickey falls asleep with a smile on his face.

—

A few days later, they’re laying in bed, on their sides, naked, and Mickey’s tracing Ian’s gigantic hand with his index finger.

“I thought you got arrested. When you went to see your family,” Mickey says, looking at their hands. Not looking at Ian.

Ian is looking at him, Mickey can feel it.

“I’m sorry,” Ian says. Mickey isn’t sure if he’s apologising for leaving without telling Mickey for two days, or something else entirely.

“What happened that night?” Mickey asks, and looks at Ian this time. 

Ian stares at him for a moment. Looking for something, maybe, Mickey thinks. Then he asks, “Does it matter, Mickey?”

Mickey can’t imagine sleeping without Ian holding him. Can’t bear the thought.

“It doesn’t,” Mickey answers.

—

Mickey doesn’t dream that night.

He wakes up to Ian kissing his nape.

—

**Author's Note:**

> do i know what this is? no. is it good? also no. 
> 
> has the answer ever been 'yes' to either of those questions? no. will it ever be? also no.


End file.
